


Weave a New Path

by Nny



Series: 2020 Valentine's Requests [10]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Circus Performer Clint Barton, M/M, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22752457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny
Summary: Bucky ignored the sideshows and stalls, their sides closed up with sheets of plywood and padlocks. Sheets of tarpaulin covered rides, turned them into unrecognisable landscapes and shadows with teeth. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, hadn't been sure even when he'd conceived this plan, but there was something in him that felt like he'd know when he saw it. Like a thread tied to something behind his breastbone, tugging him direct to where he needed to go.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: 2020 Valentine's Requests [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633162
Comments: 16
Kudos: 178





	Weave a New Path

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowerymoonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerymoonlight/gifts).



> Written for flowerymoonlight, at the request of valkyriesryde

"You know this is super illegal, right?" 

"Oh, I know." 

The look Bucky sent over his shoulder was intended to be equal measures reassuring and cocky, and he hoped like hell that Steve couldn't see how it was bounded around with fear, too. 

It was a dumb idea; it was the dumbest idea that Bucky'd had in a while, and there was no way that he should follow through with it. His therapist - the one they'd made him go to after the accident - had wavered back and forth between calling it 'attention-seeking behaviors' and 'reckless disregard for his own life', which Bucky took some offence at. He sure as hell didn't want to _die_ ; if anything the aim here was to feel _alive_ , to wake up out of the gray fog that had been dragging around after him ever since he'd fallen from that bridge. 

That was part of the reason for the therapy, of course. They'd thought he was - 

Jesus, anyone who knew him coulda told them that he was the last person looking to hurt himself, and Steve did, repeatedly and at length. Bucky had had a perfectly sensible reason - he'd gone out on the edge of the bridge to try and untangle a bird that'd got stuck out there, foot tangled in some discarded fishing line and crying plaintive at anything that passed by. He'd managed to unhook the thing, and it'd hopped and then flown away, one foot useless but its wings still okay. It'd been raining, though, and the footing hadn't been secure, and when a juggernaut had roared past, shaking the bridge to its foundations - 

He'd fallen badly. 

He remembered it every time he closed his eyes. 

Every time he looked in the mirror, too. He tried to avoid them, because when he looked into them he was trapped there for some time, examining the absences that used to be present, looking at the lines that scarred him where something had been torn away. 

So yeah, maybe he felt like he wasn't the guy he'd used to be. Maybe he felt sometimes like adrenaline was the only thing that cut through the cotton batting he felt like he was wrapped in. And maybe he'd stolen a pair of bolt-cutters from the garage and was snipping awkwardly through a chain-link fence, Steve muttering dire warnings about police and guard dogs and man-eating tigers behind him. But he'd found a position where he could brace the bolt-cutters against his side, and he was making decent progress, and even if it was criminal activity at least it was something he could _still fuckin' do_. 

"C'mon, Stevie," he said, pulling on the bottom of the fencing and hauling it aside. 

Steve rolled his eyes, tiny and determined and pissed as all hell, but still sticking with Bucky's idiocy, crawling under the fence and doing his best to hold it up when Bucky made his way through. 

It was awkward, one-armed, and he had to kind of drag himself along the ground; at one point Steve lost hold of the metal, and sharp points scraped lines into the skin of Bucky's back. It was worth it, though, when he pulled himself to his feet; it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, something no one else had done. 

The circus was different in the darkness. 

Even in day time there was something a little creepy about it, an edge of terror sharpening the edges of the delight. People always laughed harder when they were a little afraid of the thing they were laughing at, only now, late at night, the laughter had been stripped away. 

Bucky ignored the sideshows and stalls, their sides closed up with sheets of plywood and padlocks. Sheets of tarpaulin covered rides, turned them into unrecognisable landscapes and shadows with teeth. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, hadn't been sure even when he'd conceived this plan, but there was something in him that felt like he'd know when he saw it. Like a thread tied to something behind his breastbone, tugging him direct to where he needed to go. 

"Y'know my mom's gonna kill me if we get arrested," Steve said. "She might even hold you responsible for once." 

"We're not getting arrested," Bucky said, absent. There was something teasing at the edge of his hearing, a regular thumping that sounded vital and alive in a way he'd forgotten to be. 

"Buck -" Steve said, but Bucky just waved a hand at him to be quiet, heading past the rides to where the trailers were, skirting around the edges of them and hoping like hell that there weren't any dogs. He could no more have resisted following that sound than he could've grown his arm back. He wasn't sure he wanted it any less. 

In an open space beyond the living area there was a lantern set up, casting a pool of light and putting edges on the darkness beyond it. In the middle of the circle of radiance stood a man. Maybe not a man - he didn't look much older than Bucky was - but he looked he'd done a lot of living, in his time. 

He was tall and kinda skinny, right up until you got to his shoulders and arms, which had muscles that dried Bucky's mouth right out. He was dressed in some kinda costume, purple and blue and cut showy and tight, and in his hands he held a bow. His hair was mussed up and an indeterminate blond, and the look on his face was - somewhere between fierce concentration and utter bliss, like everything he was was making the next shot, and there wasn't a doubt in the world that he'd do it. 

The thump of the arrow hitting the target felt like it resounded in the hollow spaces in Bucky's chest. He musta made some kind of noise, because the guy span around, reaching to his back to grab another arrow from the quiver there. 

Bucky raised his hand, stepped forward a little so the light could just touch him. 

"Hey," he said, his voice scraping out of his throat. "I - er. I think you're my soulmate." 


End file.
